


The Death of Ladybug (Boulevard of Broken Dreams)

by SolshineInADarkNight



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Depression, Hawkmoth Reveal, Like, Reveal, Self Harm, Self-Harm, This is really dark, Violence, hehehehehehehehheheh, like i would venture incredibly graphic in the violence department, really graphic, self deprication, technically there are two major character deaths, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 03:57:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21313795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolshineInADarkNight/pseuds/SolshineInADarkNight
Summary: Adrien walks down an empty road in the middle of nowhere, reflecting on the recent events. All the horrible events. The death of his love. The return of the miraculous. His self-banishment.He used to walk with someone always beside him. Now the only thing beside him is his shadow, and the only thing he can hear is his heart; along this empty road.He's been having trouble keeping his mind blank. Keeping all the pain and suffering away. But, sometimes when you're down, a song randomly pops into your head. It's supposed to be helpful, soothing. But not for Adrien... not when he's walking this 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams.'
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 9
Kudos: 30





	The Death of Ladybug (Boulevard of Broken Dreams)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whatarubberchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatarubberchicken/gifts).

> Beta-d by Whatarubberchicken. Go check them out on tumblr and their fics on AO3!
> 
> This is dark, and really, really heartwrenching. Brace yourselves!~
> 
> Whatarubberchicken, I gift this to you for being my first beta. I look forward to working with you again!

Adrien was struggling to keep his mind empty, not wanting to think about the last two weeks. It was too painful. _Everything_ was too painful.  
Blinking, he sees the road for the first time. It was a long, desolate, abandoned road, so very far from Paris. From the mansion. From his friends. From the miraculous... from _her_.

  
_No, he can’t think of that!_

Shaking his head to rid himself of those thoughts, he realizes that he has done that exact same thing five times in half as many minutes. Sighing, he restarts his cycle of removing all thoughts from his head by accessing that legendary “Nothing Box” part of his brain that so many people have complained about. Unfortunately, his mind is active now and he can no longer stay safely inside his Nothing Box. The memories are slowly seeping out.

So, wanting to remain as far away as he can from those thoughts, he focuses on the things in front of him. 

Like how the sun doesn't shine. How there is no moon. There is no light, the clouds covering everything above in silver—just like the ri-

** _No! _ ** _It is **gone. You were not and are not worthy. You. Are. Nothing. **_

Like the pain shooting through his system after every step. It’s nothing. The way his feet shake as they move. They’re nothing. How they almost roll under his weight. _Nothing_.

He focuses on the bitter cold seeping deep into his bones, turning his fingers purple, black in some places. It’s creeping up his arms, leaving behind a trail that looks like a catacl-

** _Stop it! You do not deserve to think of such things. Not after what you did. _ **

He focuses on something else. 

_Like the lonely road..._

  
Suddenly, the lyrics of a song he heard not too long ago pop into his head.

_’I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known.’_

Seeing the road in front of him, completely deserted except for him, this couldn’t be more true. He doesn’t really know this road, but it does seem familiar. Maybe it was similar to the roads he used to walk with--

  
_No! He can’t think of that!_  
  
’I don’t know where it goes, but it’s home to me and I walk **alone**.’

He's not home. He no longer _has_ a home. He's homeless. This new, yet familiar, road is now his home.

Walking alone.... He’s always done that. All his life. Neglected by his father. Next to no friends. The house staff wouldn't talk to him. Nathalie didn't care for him, not really. The only person who stayed beside him constantly was his mother... and Plagg.  
  
He stops walking, tilting his head slightly. He should be crying, or at least be sad about that. The loss of his mother has been such a major factor in his life. But he’s not. He doesn’t really feel anything anymore. Especially now. Thinking about his mother came more easily and hurt less than what had happened just over two weeks ago. 

Just a week ago, his knees would have buckled from the mere thought of what happened that day. That’s why he’s avoiding it at all costs. He doesn’t deserve emotions after what happened. He doesn’t deserve the luxury of collapsing. Not after _that._

_‘I walk this empty street, on the boulevard of broken dreams, where the city sleeps, and I’m the only one and I walk alone.'_

Broken dreams. That stuck out. How many times has he dreamt of freedom? Too many to count. How many times had he dreamt of love? Even more so. Having the latter dream ripped so suddenly from him--his knees start to wobble; he focuses on something else. Something that isn’t _that_. The miraculous. That gave him freedom. Losing that freedom—

_His knees are wobbling too much!_

_Something else! Think of something else! Anything else!_ he silently chides himself. He resists the urge to collapse through sheer willpower, even as his body is pleading for rest. _There is no rest for the wicked._

That thought gives him more stability.

_‘Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me. ‘Til then I walk **alone**.’ _

The lyrics come without warning this time. He doesn’t want to listen to them, but they're stuck in his head. There is no escape. Not this time.

A foreign feeling starts to push against his eyes. He doesn't know how to deal with this! It’s been so long since he’s felt anything. Adrien looks up to the sky, hoping it’ll keep this from coming. He’s scared of whatever this is. He doesn’t want it. A wetness starts to trickle down his face. 

_Why would that happen? It’s not even raining. _

_Is he crying?!_

This doesn’t feel like what he remembers! He thinks....

_Is this what crying feels like after such a long time? _

As he looks up into the sky, his tears falling down his face, the memories he's kept locked away start to break through his fortified will. Rattling his Nothing Box. Completely unwanted.  
  
The Fight. The _loss_. It’s threatening to break through his carefully-crafted shields. So, once again, he shifts his focus. This time, to Paris.  
  
Everyone knows what happened. He _really _just doesn’t want to think about it.

Right now, in Paris, Nino is probably worried sick. Adrien left his phone at home and turned it off. He left behind anything identifiable. His wallet, stamped with the Gabriel logo. Any clothes stamped with the Gabriel logo. He left his room _spotless_—his steps falter at that word—clean, he meant. Super, super clean.   
  
He had even cut his hair into a messy, uneven, short shell of his normal style. He’d grabbed glasses; making him completely unrecognizable to anyone. Nino wouldn’t be able to recognize him, and neither would Alya. He takes pride in the fact that he believes that not even Mari—

  
He drops to a knee, closing his eyes in an attempt to force his stray, traitorous thoughts into the Nothing Box. _My mind is gone. I have no thoughts. I have no fear. I have no joy. I have no miracles. I have no death. I have no colors. There is no **red**, no **blue**—blue eyes—NO! No, I won’t think of that! No green... purple... yellow... **black**—black raven hai— BACK! ALL OF YOU! YOU **ARE** **NOTHING! You have no place. **There is no one. No one knows me, I know **no one.** I only know this road, and the way that it leads to nowhere. Nowhere. The place I belong. The place I **am**. **I am nothing. **_

  
After what seems like hours, he ventures back to reality, his eyes opening. Or had they already been open? Time is relative, it is nothing. Just like he is. Somehow, his feet have managed to carry his body forward, to make sure he keeps walking. Good. Even his subconscious knows that he doesn’t deserve the luxury of collapsing. 

He stays this way for a while, in a state of awareness but not registering anything. His thoughts are Nothing. His protesting body is nothing. Weak,_ pathetic, a traitor. _

‘_Boulevard of broken dreams…’ _The random, stray, unchecked thought appears, making him stagger and almost lose his footing.   
  
Paris. The city of love. The city guarded by two saviors: one dressed in red, the other in black. Shining beacons of hope. Now it lies abandoned by one savior to mourn the death of the other.

Other memories smash through his barriers, leaving him to drop to the ground as his consciousness switches focus from keeping him upright to keeping memories out of his mind.   
  
A sword..., slick and dripping in blood... A blur of red, black, and an even darker red... A blob of purple and a face with a gut-twisting smile... A familiar destructive power surging through his arm and colliding with the purple... The blob melting into a mess of white, red, flesh, muscle and bone—

_NO! STOP! YOU ARE **NOTHING**. Your thoughts are nothing. Your life is nothing..._  
  
His dreams are now hopelessly lost to the void.   
  
_‘My shadow’s the only one that walks beside me. My shallow heart’s the only thing that’s beating.’_  
  
He wouldn’t be alone if he hadn’t done what he did. He wouldn’t have to try to keep sane by—yes—talking to his shadow. But he is alone. His shadow is the only one that stays with him. His heart, only one of two he’s grown accustomed to, is the only thing beating.   
  
_’Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me. ‘Til then I walk alone.’_  
  
Yes... sometimes he does wish someone could find him. But he’s made it impossible for anyone to find him. And the only people he wishes could find him… they’re lost forever. Never to be found again. 

_You... You are nothing. Your thoughts are nothing but empty void. Your emotions are less than the void. They are non-existent. You know no one. You know nothing. Nothing but this road. This empty road. A road that is just like you. _  
  
He once again forces his mind into the Nothing Box, trying to rebuild his shields again. He doesn’t want any of that to happen again. _Never _again.   
  
A little while later, the road meets his gaze again. The same road. unchanging. A road that is nothing. He doesn't remember getting up from the ground. But he's glad he did. He needs to keep moving. This is what he deserves. Adrien continues to ignore the pain. _The void, __n__othing feels pain and I am Nothing. That _could've been hours, or days, or years ago. Time continues to be irrelevant—he’s jostled into reality again by his leg over reaching, causing him to step much further than his body was expecting. It sends him stumbling. Regaining his footing, he begins to walk again. 

  
Eventually, his mind bombards him again. This time, with different lyrics. These ones beat his shields and will to a pulp, then juices them out into the endless void where energy resides.   
  
All this because his mind decided to scream, '_Is it my fault, is it **my fault?'**_

The box opens.  
  
As his mind plunges into full-HD memories, no longer hidden behind blockades, his body collapses to the ground. His head hits the ground with enough force that it’ll definitely leave a nasty bruise.

* * *

(Two Weeks Prior)

  
They had just finished up a fight. It was a really, really, _really _hard fight that lasted for hours. He’d had to use Cataclysm, what? Four times?! And Ladybug had called her Lucky Charm three times.  
  
Nevertheless, when Ladybug had less than four minutes before she detransformed, they found a break in the akuma’s defenses. Taking her shot, she just barely managed to launch her magical sticky hand onto the name tag that was hanging onto the akuma’s form.   
  
As Ladybug purified the demonized butterfly, Chat Noir had gone over to the victim. He’d given the boy the usual spiel, telling him that it’s alright, that he’s safe now. But before he could comfort the victim further, something had caught his eye.   
  
Ladybug had swung away, not giving a goodbye since they all knew she needed to go, so he wasn’t distracted like he normally would be.   
  
A pure white butterfly, a far cry from what it once was just a few seconds ago, caught his eye.   


Tilting his head in curiosity, he had followed it; followed it all the way across Paris.   
  
He hadn’t known what to expect, following the now-harmless weapon that Papillon used to empower/demonize random people, but what he saw was definitely not what he wanted.   
  
It led him to the Agreste Mansion. Freezing his pursuit, his eyes followed it mindlessly as his mind tried to figure out why Papillon was in his house.   
  
Suddenly, as the butterfly fluttered steadily toward the mansion, a wall spiraled away, revealing a large window with thin metal beams crisscrossing across it to make a butterfly-esque shape.   
  
His mind had been reeling. This could only mean one thing. _But it couldn’t be! Father couldn’t—_

  
His thoughts had been cut off by the childish shouting and pouting coming from the window. He couldn’t see the man or smell him, all he could smell were flowers and disinfectant, mixed in with a little dust.  
  
What had confirmed it for him was the voice. It was Father’s. He would recognize it anywhere. At least, now he would. The window started to close, but he saw a flash of purple, glimpsed a head of white-blonde hair and the tip of a cream-colored suit jacket walking away.  
  
His mind went numb. His thoughts became disassociated. (It was the first time he realized that he was entering the Nothing Box. Sure, Ladybug had scolded him a few times about going into the Nothing Box, but he’d never actually _felt _it before.) As his mind was frozen, his body had the presence of mind, (not literally but still,) to pull up his baton and call Ladybug like crazy. Call after call. For an hour. He must have called at least 60 times. But he couldn’t feel ashamed. His mind had finally rebooted after the 50th call, and as his emotions went from nothing to anger, to _fury_, his finger never stopped pressing the ‘Call Ladybug’ button. It was a feature that he’d had Plagg insert just for him. All he could focus on was the way his father's voice and footsteps were moving away.  
  
When Ladybug finally picked up, she was _extremely _irritated. He supposed, if he were called 60 times in an hour when he wasn’t available, he’d be pretty irritated too, but he wasn’t thinking about that. All he could think about was how he was going to beat his father to a _pulp_. He wasn’t even looking when Ladybug opened her mouth to scold him, nor did he look when she closed her mouth and asked what was wrong.   
  
He was only able to respond with a furious, “Get over here. Now,” before hanging up on her.   
  
He couldn’t feel ashamed for what he just did. It was a miracle he wasn’t just jumping through the window with a furious yell.   
  
A few minutes later, the sound of light feet hitting the rooftop beside him had alerted him to Ladybug’s presence.   
  
Up until that point, this mess wasn’t exactly his fault. Everything else, though? Definitely his fault.   
  
Ladybug had attempted to lay a hand on his shoulder, but he hissed at the contact. He hoped she wasn’t mad at him, but he really wanted to beat his father, and touching reminded him of family.   
  
Ladybug was talking. Something about having a plan of attack or something ridiculous like that. The only thing he really registered from her was the, “let’s go.”  
  
He would later recall that she had asked him if he was okay, and that they weren’t going to start until they talked. She had said “let’s go.” Just not into the attack. She had actually said, “let’s go over a few roofs.”  
  
His first mistake that night was not listening to her like he should’ve. He had been too focused on how Papillon's voice was so quiet, hidden behind walls and floors.   
  
He had grabbed his baton and thrown it at the wall where the window was. The wall cracked, and the second his baton landed back in his hand, he split it in two, and started throwing them in a manic state. He hadn't heard Ladybug frantically trying to get him to stop. He couldn’t focus on anything other than getting through the wall… and to his father. He could _still _hear the man complaining to someone, but at least his voice was getting closer again. 

When the wall covering the window crumbled, he’d stuck his batons back together, leapt up, and extended it as he threw it at the window. It crashed through the window, shattering the glass and snapping the thin metal in two.   
  
Just after the satisfying sound of glass shattering, he jumped through the window, deaf to Ladybug’s pleas for him to stop.   
  
_His second mistake that night.  
_\--------

  
His mind cuts to black again as his subconscious fights with itself to either repress or relive the memories. _Please_! he cries out internally to Plagg, Tikki, the being that created the kwami, ANYONE, _I don't want to do this anymore. Make it stop!_

But whatever power in control right now has other plans, and forces him back into the memories with a, _“**My fault,** is it **my fault**?”_

\--------

  
He had landed through the window and stooped low to pick up his baton before he straightened up, looking at the surprised shape of Gabriel Agreste, who was staring, shocked, at the leather-clad hero before him, the broken window looming behind him.  
  
Seeing his father look so distraught had brought a sick, dark smile to his masked face. His fangs had glinted in the low light as his now slit, dark green, hateful eyes bore into the shocked, icy-blue of his father’s.   
  
Before Gabriel could do anything, Chat Noir had chucked his baton into the man’s chest with a resounding _crack_, breaking a rib or two and making Gabriel stumble back in pain.

  
Chat Noir had rushed over and hadn’t hesitated to start laying into him, throwing punches and kicks that were each followed by the sickening cracks and crunches of bones breaking. He took out years,_ years_, of pent-up frustration, depression, anger, and betrayal out on his father.   
  
By the time Ladybug had grabbed his arm, he’d ripped his father’s clothes, leaving lumps and purple blemishes all over his body. He had been breathing heavily, and Ladybug was tugging his arm forcefully.  
  
Ladybug had pleaded, insisted, that he stop beating the man, adding a little bit of humor when she’d said she wanted some of that action too. He’d finally relented and looked into her eyes for the first time since she left after the akuma fight. He’d seen anger in her eyes. Anger towards Gabriel Agreste. He also saw horror and concern. Horror at _his_ actions and concern for his mental health.   
  
That was when it all came crashing down. _His third mistake._ He’d dropped his baton to the ground, dipping his head onto her shoulder in shame. When she’d released a breath of relief, he’d felt even more ashamed. He had scared her. His partner. The love of his life. She’ll never unsee that. He’ll never unsee the horror in her eyes. _Never_.   
  
In the time it took for Chat Noir to calm down, neither of them had heard the raspy, “Nooroo, dark wings, rise!” Neither of them registered the purple flash of light. They hadn’t heard the slow, shaking sound of a blade being unsheathed. That was his fault, for not hearing any of that. He was the one with incredibly-enhanced hearing. He should have heard it. But he didn’t.

Now he’s suffering the consequences for both of them.   
  
He hadn’t lifted his head until his hackles rose, and he’d felt something sharp pierce his side. His mind was numb with shame, but his magically-enhanced, feline instincts pulled him away from the blade, and it only grazed his side instead of stabbing through his back. He’d narrowly missed the fatal strike meant for him. Another mistake.  
  
It all happened in slow motion for him now. He watched as he spun away from the blade that Gabriel, now Papillon, had pulled. But now, it had more momentum than before, with none of the resistance of its original target’s body. Bereft of his prey, Papillion had lurched forward, more so than he would normally have, and embedded the blade into Ladybug’s chest, the tip peeking out through her back.   
  
Chat looked on in horror, as the blade (meant for him) seemed to sink in slowly through her chest. The sickening sound of a magical blade cutting through bone, veins, and arteries, and stabbing right through her heart filled the room. Blood sprayed from Ladybug’s mouth, peppering Hawkmoth’s face. Blood now oozed from her back and front. The blade, hilt, and handle were now slick. Blood had sprayed from her chest initially, coating Papillon’s hand, arm and chest in red.  
  
Ladybug’s pained gasp and her look of shock at the attack have been stuck in his head ever since then. That, and the victorious smirk on Papillon’s face as he’d pulled the blade from her dying body, letting her crumple to the ground like garbage.   
  
Papillon had turned to Chat Noir, but before he could even open his mouth, the superhero had let out a blood-curdling, (literally, Ladybug’s blood shook with the sheer volume) life threatening, most-terrifying demonic _growl _ever produced in the world. _Nothing _could match his fury.   
  
But the rage hadn’t been entirely focused on his father, it was focused mostly on himself. He had _allowed_ this to happen. Ladybug was dying because of _him_. Because he couldn’t protect her.   
  
He’d launched himself at his father, digging his claws into the man’s chest and ripping them out. He threw the villain to the ground and stomped on the hand holding the blade, relishing the sound of cracking bones and a pained grunt. Chat Noir had then walked over to his baton and looked back to Papillion. He was crouched now, picking up the blade with his other, uninjured hand. Chat couldn’t let that happen, since one thing he knew about his father was that he was ambidextrous. So, forcing his rage into the extending of his baton, he’d heard it collide with his father’s knee. The sound of a bone shattering and the sight of the man’s leg bending impossibly in the other direction sent waves of sickening _happiness _through him.   
  
He’d stolen a glance at his lady. She wasn’t dead yet, but she was dying. Her chest wasn't rising but that didn’t mean she was dead. She’d been looking at him. Something akin to approval and ‘kill him dead for me!’ and a softness that told him she didn't blame him was in her eyes. But something else had been there that wasn't there now, and he couldn’t figure out _what_.  
  
_My fault. It’s **my fault.**_

When he’d looked back at his father, he’d heard a voice in his head that sounded a lot like Plagg. But it was different, in a way that sent shivers down his spine.   
  
“Cataclysm his sorry soul, he doesn’t deserve life, nor afterlife. He doesn’t even deserve _Hell_.” The voice had repeated it over and over again, his voice growing deeper and deeper, more demonic with every repetition.   
  
He couldn’t find it in him to dismiss the suggestion, so he rolled with it.   
  
Channeling his wrath into his Cataclysm, he’d called for it. The destructive power that enveloped his hand was different this time. It was so much more powerful.   
  
He’d let it fill his whole body as he’d slammed a foot down onto his father’s shoulder, forcing him onto his back and steadily increasing pressure even after he heard another series of cracks.  
  
With his free hand, he’d ripped off the Butterfly Miraculous and thrown it behind him, towards his lady. He’d watched his father return to normal, Gabriel Agreste in his absolutely horribly-styled attire. He’d leaned down, his eyes narrowed into impossibly-small black slits.   
  
“Goodbye, _Father_,” he had said, spitting out the word like it was acid. “Goodbye forever.”   
  
“Adrien? Adrien! Don—” but before his father could complete his plea, Chat Noir had grabbed his head, letting the destructive energy seep into Gabriel Agreste’s body. 

First, the flesh rotted and shriveled. His eyes had fallen out before evaporating. Then his skin flaked off, his muscle tissue falling with it before turning to dust. His blood had evaporated, his organs dried-up and turned to dust. His bones cracked and fell apart before they too, turned into dust. For a second, Chat Noir could see a transparent version of his father, his spirit, before the over-powered Cataclysm turned that into mist as well, the corrupt soul being completely destroyed and lost forever. A distant, fading scream of agony echoed around the chamber.   
  
He’d looked at the dust, feeling accomplished, but then it had turned black, seeping into the floor and wall, cracking it. He’d jumped back and run over to where Ladybug lay, watching it all unfold. The floor continued to crack closer and closer to them, and the wall connected to that part of the floor started cracking too. Before long, the entire north side of the wall, floor, and ceiling were reduced to nothing more than dust.   
  
Turning to Ladybug, Chat Noir had dropped his transformation and knelt before her, gently caressing her face and gathering her close to his chest. He looked into her eyes, her unblinking, _off _eyes.   
  
"I- I did it, My Lady. I did it. Papillon, he's gone. I got the Broach! No more akuma! You-' His voice had cracked, "you can live a normal life!" 

She remained silent, her eyes staring up into his own. Still, something was _off_ about her. 

  
"LB, c'mon, he's gone, use the Cure." 

Still, she did nothing but stare.

  
"Ladybug... come on. It's me. We—" the words got stuck in his throat. "Ladybug, come on, this isn't funny!"

...

That's when it hit him. Ladybug… she was dead. Before his eyes, she had died. She had died in agony. She had died watching him. She had died before he even had the chance to save her. All because he _didn't take the hit!_

_"No..." _he lifted a hand to her cheek, the cold finally registering. But... she couldn't be dead. She's... her transformation was still up!

Then, without warning, her transformation dropped, revealing Ladybug to be Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Her pajama shirt was soaked with blood and there was a hole in the middle of her chest. The blood was slowly seeping out, moving at a snail’s pace. Adrien's pants were soaked and there was a puddle on the floor beneath them both. Her eyes were dull, lifeless, and glazed over _nothing. _

"La-" his voice _broke, "Marinette. My Lady..." _he choked out between sobs. "I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry!" 

Plagg landed on his shoulder and said something that wasn't registered, lost in the anguished wails of a young man hunched over the body of the girl he loved more than life. The girl he let die.   
Hours later, after countless times Plagg and Tikki tried and failed to console him, Adrien had picked up Marinette and brought her home. He showed her parents her broken, lifeless body. He told them everything. 

Tom and Sabine couldn’t convince him it wasn’t his fault when he told them what had happened. All of Paris couldn’t convince him. Not even Marinette herself, if she were alive, could’ve convinced him.  
  
About a week after the final battle, he attended Ladybug’s memorial, sharing even more pained looks with the Dupain-Chengs. Afterwards, he had gone back to the mansion and searched through the safe in his father’s office. He’d found the Peacock Miraculous there.   
  
A day later, he found himself walking through the empty, mourning streets of Paris towards the Guardian of the Miraculous. The weight of the Ladybug, Butterfly, and Peacock Miraculous’ had felt like five tons in his pockets. The Cat Miraculous had lain in a box in his hand, having been set in there only a few hours after the memorial. He would never pick it up again.

\-------- 

He left the four miraculous with Master Fu and walked away. Never to be seen again. 

* * *

(Present)

Finally, his mind releases its master-hold on his consciousness, and he blearily cracks open his eyes. He’s on the ground, in the middle of the empty, unfamiliar road that he somehow knows, and the song that started all of this is coming back to him again. 

_‘I'm walking down the line_  
That divides me somewhere in my mind  
On the border line of the edge  
And where I walk alone  
  
‘Read between the lines  
What's fu-‘  
  
He can feel his body start to shut down, the purple in his fingers now black. It had traveled up his hands, his arms, like a cataclysm. It seeps into his veins, spreading through his system. Freezing his lungs, his heart, his brain. Stiffly, he curls into a tight ball, he starts quietly sobbing, the tears burning his cheeks while simultaneously freezing. 

  
“I’ll meet you soon, My Lady... I’ll see you soon.” 


End file.
